The Price of Freedom (The Tomorrow Series)
by RichardJ
Summary: It's twenty years since the war which tore their country apart ended. At long last a permanent peace treaty is signed, but for Ellie, Lee, Homer and Fi the new treaty unintentionally puts them in danger. A different sort of fight is needed to save them. Can a new generation show the courage of their parents when faced with seemingly impossible odds? One girl is about to find out.
1. An impossible assignment

John Marsden is acknowledged as the creator of the _The Tomorrow Series_ characters and story. _The Tomorrow Series_ is an award winning Young Adult series of seven books written and set in the 1990s. The plot follows the lives and adventures of teenager Ellie Linton and her friends following a fictional invasion of Australia. A film (2010) and Australian TV series (2016) have been produced of first book in the series, _Tomorrow, When the War Began._

1\. An impossible assignment.

I'm facing a major problem which I'm hoping my boyfriend Gavin can help me solve. Yeah right! So far he's shown no inclination to do more than make light of my troubles. In fact he'd be far happier if we skipped lessons and found a quiet corner to resume where we left off yesterday. Not that I'm falling for that line again. I can't believe I was so stupid as to fall for it yesterday. My pride and reputation were literally saved by the bell.

"I don't see what's your problem," sighs Gavin when he finally accepts that Robyn-behind-the-back-of-the-bike-shed isn't on this lunchtime's menu. "All we have to do is read some stuffy old book about the 1995-6 war, and write an essay about the experiences of one of our parents during the war. How hard a task can that be?"

For Gavin it will be easy. His dad was in the army. I bet he can provide lots of interesting material for Gavin's essay. For me it's going to be an impossible assignment. Dad's no longer around, and mum quickly blows a fuse if I ask anything about the war beyond the most general of facts. It's as though her war-time experiences hold a dark secret which she guards with her life. She doesn't even like me reading books and watching television programmes about the war. I mean, I'm sixteen years old and mum still treats me like I'm six.

I suppose I could defy mum and smuggle my copy of _The War from Hell_ into my room; but there will be the devil to pay if she finds out. It's a college library book, so at least she won't toss it into the trash out of hand. As for writing about her war-time experiences, then that'll be a choice between making something up, or tackling the forbidden subject head on.

Of course, I'm kidding myself. I've only one choice. How can I hope to make something up? The fourteen month war was over five years before I was born. Even the uneasy peace which followed had stabilised by the time I was old enough to understand anything about the world in which I lived. For years the war was a topic few people wished to talk about. It's only now that a permanent settlement has been agreed between our government and the Australian Occupied Territories Council that people are willing to openly discuss the past. It's one of the reasons why we've been given this assignment. There's no doubt that the war and its aftermath has dramatically changed Australia. The new United Nations brokered treaty will change it once again. Mum says that some of the changes will be for the better, but she still refuses to go into details about her past when I push my questions beyond some invisible boundary.

It's so unfair. I mean, I know there's something that happened during the war which is responsible for the break up of my mum and dad's marriage six years ago. Some secret detail which they never discussed before they were married, or during the decade after. Something so bad that within a few months of its discovery dad had moved overseas and out of my daily life. Sure, I get a card and present from him on my birthday, and he sends mum money every now and then. But I've neither seen him nor spoken to him since I was ten years old.

Neither parent offered me a proper explanation for the traumatic change to our family life. I've been too afraid to ask once dad left in case my curiosity completely severed all my ties to him. My biggest fear is that one or both of my parents had been a collaborator. One of the thousand or so Australians who actively helped the enemy during the war. I don't mean those who were forced to work as slave labour, but those who volunteered to act as spies and interrogators. Traitors for reward. After the war, some of the collaborators were executed, but many more simply went into hiding. I suppose it was an easy enough task in the chaos which followed the end of the war.

If the newspapers are right, then some of those collaborators have since resumed their lives, hiding their guilty secret from their neighbours in the hope that time will erase their sins. The terms of the new peace treaty mean that they will be officially pardoned for their crimes, but that isn't likely to change people's opinion of them.

Perhaps mum will break her silence now that I need to learn more about her past for my college assignment. But do I really want to discover the secret that mum's been so careful to hide from me? I think I do. I just keep remembering the poem that mum has pinned onto our living room wall.

 _In this life of froth and bubble_  
 _Two things stand like stone_  
 _Kindness in another's trouble_  
 _Courage in your own_

All I need is the courage to confront her about my assignment. If she's hiding some terrible secret, then I think I'm now mature enough to understand. Whether I can forgive and forget may be another matter, but not knowing is far worse.

My college history book says that we lost the war, and we lost it badly. Well, it doesn't say that in those exact words. It tries to bury the hard facts under a lot of warm fluffy sentiment. But I'm hungry enough for the truth that I can peel away the fluff. In reality, we were a country which ignored the problems faced by our poorer neighbours, and adopted a "fortress Australia" foreign policy. A policy which might have worked had our bungling politicians not left the gates to the fortress wide open. The initial invasion was like Pearl Harbour in 1941, only on a much greater scale.

In the end we were lucky that the economic sanctions imposed by the United Nations against the invaders were gradually having an effect. That, coupled with a successful surprise assault by the New Zealand armed forces in the last month of the war, is what finally persuaded the enemy generals to go to the negotiating table. Under pressure from their own government, the generals reluctantly abandoned their plans for the total domination of Australia, and agreed to an armistice. However hard our politicians try to sugar-coat the terms of the armistice agreement, it was a humiliating defeat for loyal Australians. Millions of people were forcibly resettled as a result. No wonder that for years few people wanted to talk about the war. Too many painful memories.

Then something changed about a year or so ago when a new government was elected. The last of the politicians connected with the inept pre-war government were finally forced out of office, and a new generation of politicians took the reins. People voted for radical change rather than the steady-as-she-goes don't-talk-about-the-war stability promoted by the old guard. The armistice was only intended as a temporary agreement, but for over two decades the peace treaty negotiations had dragged on with no real progress. The new politicians made it a priority to conclude a peace treaty settlement.

Suddenly people were talking about new opportunities and looking towards the future. Not that the past is being allowed to be forgotten. The causes and conduct of the war contain many lessons on what-not-to-do. I don't know enough to fully understand all the issues, and the so-called experts disagree on most of them anyway. But at least people are now feel able to talk about the war without sinking into a funk.

None of this solves my immediate problem, though. Gavin offers to help me smuggle my copy of _The War from Hell_ into my room. Unfortunately I know his offer is a thinly disguised attempt to get inside my bedroom. Something I've steadfastly refused to allow, knowing mum would ground me for life if she discovered that I had invited a boy into my bedroom.

"Anyway, what happened to your mum during the war?" asks Gavin as we eat our lunch together.

"That's the whole problem," I say, slightly exasperated at his obvious inattention to what I said earlier. "I simply don't know. I've asked her enough times, but she never answers my questions. All I know is that she lived in Wirrawee at the time of the invasion."

"Wirrawee? That whole area was captured on the first day of the invasion," replies Gavin, telling me something even I already know. "She probably spent the war in an internment camp. She may have been one of those forced to work in a factory or a farm. How old was she during the war?"

I do a quick mental calculation. "She was about my age at the start of the war."

"Could be something bad happened to her while she was a prisoner," says Gavin. "A captive teenage girl might attract the wrong sort of attention at the hands of the enemy guards. Maybe that's why she won't talk. Do you understand what I mean?"

"Yes," I reply glumly.

That possibility has often crossed my mind, but for some reason I've refused to believe it could be true. I've heard plenty of horror stories of internment camp life from other students at college. Nearly everybody has parents or grandparents who were interned. Even if only half of the stories are true, it paints a bleak picture. But I don't think that's why mum won't tell me anything. It doesn't explain why dad suddenly upped and left us. Gavin and I finish our lunch and our conversation drifts onto other matters. I'm so nervous about confronting mum that I barely remember my afternoon classes.

If there's one thing I share with my mum, it's an ability to take action once I've decided to do something. I decide that I must ask her as soon as possible. Tonight even.

I arrive home about four o'clock to find mum sat at the table reading an official looking letter. I can tell that she is nervous.

"Are you 'right, mum?" I ask.

"Yeah. Yeah," she replies. "Just a ghost from the past."

"Is it bad news?"

"No. It's nothing like that. I've been invited to attend an official ceremony in Wirrawee on the 25th.

"On ANZAC Day?" I ask, recalling that the 25 April is a public holiday to commemorate the various conflicts in which the Australian and New Zealand armed forces have fought side by side. It's a special commemoration this year ... it's the day on which the new peace treaty comes into effect.

"Yes. Apparently they are unveiling a new monument. I suspect they are trying to rustle up as big a crowd as possible."

"Can I come?" I ask, barely containing my excitement. What a golden opportunity to find out more about her past life.

"If you want," replies mum, reading the letter again as though she might have misread it before. "I don't think it'll be very exciting."

"Listen, mum," I say, deciding I'd best tackle the subject of my college assignment now. "My class was given our social studies assignment today. I'm expected to read a book about the '95-6 war and write an essay about your wartime experiences. I know you don't like talking about the war, but I need you to tell me something so I can do the assignment. I don't mind inventing some of it if you want, and I won't write about anything you don't want me to mention."

"I see," replies mum after a pause which seems to last a lifetime. "Which book you are expected to read?"

" _The War from Hell_. It's supposed to be very good. Something suitable for my age group."

"I know the book," replies mum, suddenly looking as though she is about to burst into tears. "Have you read any of it yet?"

"No," I reply. "We were only given it this morning. I know how you feel about me reading books about the war. I wanted you to know before I started reading it."

"Well, it looks as though I must let you read it. But promise me you won't start reading it until after we've been to Wirrawee on ANZAC Day."

"Well, okay," I say, puzzled by her request. In truth, it's unlikely any of my class will be reading the book until the last possible minute. We have six weeks to complete the assignment, and hardly anybody will start either part of the assignment before the beginning of May.

"What about my essay?" I ask. "Will you at least tell me something? I can't make up a believable story on my own."

"I suppose I must," replies mum. "Let me think on it for a few days. We can have a good long talk when we come back from Wirrawee."

By the time we set off for Wirrawee I'm a bundle of nervous excitement. By now I know the stakes are high on the social studies assignment. As I thought, none of my friends has started reading _The War from Hell_ , and only a few have started writing their essay. None have progressed further than a couple of paragraphs. But we listen to each other's stories about our parents' wartime experiences. To hear some of my classmates talk you'd think their parents won the war single handed from the inside of an internment camp. Some of the stories are quite harrowing. Several students lost one or more of their grandparents during the war. I'm lucky. Both mum and dad's parents survived the war, although only my maternal grandmother is still alive today.

Surprisingly, among all the students in my class, only Gavin has a parent who was in the military. My mum and dad were only slightly older than I am now, so were too young for military service during the war. But they are quite young compared to the parents of most of the students in my class. I've fobbed off pressure from my friends to reveal my mum's war time stories with a promise to tell them everything next week. I just hope mum delivers on her promise, and she hasn't done anything that she's ashamed about. I don't know how I'd handle that.

We arrive in Wirrawee in plenty of time for the ceremony. The dawn parades in remembrance of those killed in the two World Wars are long over, and everyone seems to have gone for breakfast. The cafés are very crowded, so mum takes me for a short drive around town. Our route takes us across the Heron bridge towards the low hills that separate the Wirrawee valley and the ocean beyond.

"They've finally built a new bridge," observes mum as we cross the bridge spanning the Heron river and some low-lying fields.

The bridge doesn't look anything special, apart from being nearly a kilometre long. We have several of those dotted about the countryside, spanning rivers which are normally only 50 metres wide, but which can swell into massive torrents when bad storms hit the mountains. This bridge doesn't look that new, either. But anything built in the last twenty years must seem new to mum after being away for so long.

"So, what's so special about this bridge?" I ask when mum stops the car half way across and we get out to admire the view.

"I helped blow up the old one during the war," replies mum as though she's discussing the view.

I stand opened mouthed at this astonishing announcement. The smile on mum's face makes me wonder if she's pulling my leg. It wouldn't be the first time she's played a trick on me. The more I think about it, the more I'm convinced that she's joking. I ignore the bait and return to the car.


	2. A gathering at the showground

2\. A gathering at the showground.

We get back into the car and resume our journey. Mum drives a couple of kilometres before stopping at a small picnic area on the rise of a hill. It's a nice place for a picnic, overlooking Wirrawee in one direction and the ocean in the other.

"Do you know which bay that is over there?" mum asks.

"Cobbler's Bay," I reply smugly.

Although mum restricts my internet access, I've managed to secretly prepare for this trip. My college history book barely mentions what happened in this region during the war. It's only reference is to say that Cobbler's Bay was an important military port for most of the war. Having laid mines and sunk block ships in all our major ports, the enemy needed new places to land their reinforcements and supplies. Cobbler's Bay was transformed overnight from a sleepy harbour for recreational fishermen, into a major military installation.

When I studied this region on our map at home, I noticed that there is only one highway and a few minor roads leading away from Cobbler's Bay. The highway is the one we are on. Now that I see it in real life, I realise that Wirrawee must have been an important junction in the enemy's supply lines. The road from Cobbler's Bay crosses the Heron bridge and into Wirrawee town centre. Two main roads branch out from there. In one direction lies Stratton and the larger cities beyond, in the other lies Risdon, the Holloway Valley, and the important rail junction at Goonardoo. Suddenly it dawns on me that mum's boast about blowing up the old Heron bridge might not have been as fanciful as she made it appear. With the bridge destroyed the enemy's ability to transport supplies from Cobbler's Bay would have been severely hampered.

"Were you joking about blowing up the old bridge?" I ask, knowing I could be making a complete fool of myself.

"That's for you to decide," replies mum, not letting me off the hook that easily. "Come on. We had best get back to Wirrawee if we are going to be in time for the ceremony."

Once we cross the Heron bridge we take a slightly different route through the town. There's a lot of new housing development in this part of Wirrawee.

"The airfield has gone! They've built these houses over it," says mum, slightly surprised.

"No," I say, trying to be helpful. "It's over there. Can you see the sign? 'Wirrawee Flying Club'."

Mum nods in agreement, but I'm left with the impression that she was looking for something larger than the small grass airfield which I pointed out. The route mum has chosen is obviously a trip down memory lane for her. Although she doesn't say much, it is obvious that a lot has changed since she was last in Wirrawee. We pass the High School and the library before stopping at the Wirrawee Showground. We get out and join the swelling crowd gathering inside the grounds.

"This was where your grandparents were interned during the war," says mum, as we move towards the crowd.

"Weren't you held in an internment camp?" I ask, latching onto the way she phrased her last remark. I'm really pushing my luck with my curiosity.

"No. I spent a few weeks in captivity, but for most of the war I hid out with a few others in the bush or in an abandoned house in Stratton. I even spent a few months in New Zealand."

Wow! Living in the bush is something I never dreamed mum was capable of doing. She's never struck me as the outdoor type. Sure, we spend a few weekends skiing in the mountains during winter, and we drive to the beach several times during summer, but that's the extent of our communion with nature. We're city people; at least I am. And for mum to live rough while hiding from enemy soldiers is beyond my imagination.

Everyone I know at college insists that all Australian civilians were either rounded up by the enemy, or they escaped to the Free Territories ... the scattered pockets of resistance defiantly held by the remnants of our army and air force. None of my friends at college mentioned they had a parent who escaped to the Free Territories. The thought that my mother lived free behind enemy lines puts a whole new perspective on her past. But why the secrecy for all these years?

"You must tell me more," I say. "How did you manage to live like that for so long? Why have you kept it a secret?"

"I'm afraid your questions must wait until later," says mum. "It looks as though the ceremony will be starting soon."

The crowd is gathering around what I presume is the new monument. It is covered by a tarpaulin which some local dignitary will undoubtedly remove at the appointed time. We don't have long to wait before the speeches begin. I listen carefully, even though many of the speeches refer to people and events I've never heard about. Most of the speakers refer to events during the war or shortly after. Wirrawee is only fifty kilometres from the border, and if the speakers are right, cross-border raids occurred for several years after the armistice was signed. After the speeches a short prayer is said for those from the Wirrawee district who died during the war.

Just when I think the speeches are over, a man in an army uniform is invited onto the podium. I can't make out his rank from where I stand, but he's obviously too old to still be on active service. He is handed the microphone and he walks over to the monument. To my surprise he speaks with a New Zealand accent.

"Ladies and gentlemen," begins the man in a clear voice. "For those who don't know me, I'm General Finley of the New Zealand Defence Force, retired. Thank you for inviting me to this special ceremony. It's my great pleasure to unveil this monument which is both a memorial for the many Wirrawee civilians who died during the war, and a tribute to the six people whose names are inscribed on the second plaque. I can't add anything to what the previous speakers have said about the tragic loss of life among Wirrawee's population during the war, but I am able to say something about the six people named on the second plaque. I knew five of them personally; the sixth, alas, died inside enemy held territory before we had a chance to meet. Those of you who are old enough to remember the war of 1995-6 will know that the area around Wirrawee was of significant military importance to the enemy.

"The six people named on this monument made a contribution to the war effort far beyond what any government can expect from even the most patriotic of civilians. That they were still only teenagers at the time makes their actions even more heroic. The fact that Wirrawee has been part of the Commonwealth of Australia for the last twenty years is due in no small part to the activities of the Wirrawee partisans we are recognising today.

"I know some of them are here with us today, but I won't call them to the podium to receive the public recognition they really deserve. Despite the new treaty, they remain listed as terrorists in many countries around the world. It seems incredible that after all this time they continue to risk arrest and a lengthy prison sentence for their bravery. Their sacrifice continues to this day."

Angry mutterings greet the last part of the general's speech. I hope the anger is directed at those who still regard the partisans as terrorists, and not towards the general for saying what he did. The crowd settles down as soon as the band starts playing. The ceremony continues with the official unveiling of the monument followed by yet more patriotic speeches.

But I switched off when the general finished his speech. Suddenly I'm concerned that one of the six names on that monument is my mum's name. That might explain some of the secrecy. It might even explain what happened between mum and dad. I hope I'm wrong. Part of me wants to leap for joy at the thought of my mum being a war hero. Particularly after all my fears that she was a collaborator. But part of me is worried that she may not be safe even after all this time. I couldn't bear it if she was arrested and sent to prison. Would I be placing her in danger if I wrote about her wartime activities in my essay? What if I brought unwanted attention on my mum by my actions?

"Are you okay, Robyn," asks mum when she realises I've gone very quiet.

"Er ... yeah," I reply, not very convincingly. "Mum. Is your name on that monument?"

"How would you feel if it is?" she replies.

"I don't really know," I reply truthfully. "Proud, I suppose. But afraid of what might happen as a result."

"That's good to know," replies mum. "Come on, the crowd around the monument has thinned out. We can take a look for ourselves."

We work our way towards the monument. It's a slow journey despite the general drift of the crowd towards the huge refreshments tent. Finally we make it to our destination. It's an unpretentious monument standing about three metres tall. There are two metal plates, each containing and inscription. The first says:

 _In memory of the citizens of Wirrawee who were incarcerated in these showgrounds during the 1995-6 war and who died while in captivity. Your sacrifice will not be forgotten._

The second plate lower down reads:

 _In recognition of the partisans from the Wirrawee area who fought during the 1995-6 war._

 _Kevin Holmes  
Ellie Linton  
Robyn Mathers  
Fiona Maxwell  
Lee Takkam  
Homer Yannos_

 _Your courage is remembered. Your sacrifice will not be forgotten._

There it is. My mother's maiden name. Fiona Maxwell. I'm lost for words. I think mum is as well. We just stand there looking at the plaque. Our silent vigil is suddenly broken by a man's loud voice.

"Fi, is that you?" says the man.

"Hello, Homer," replies mum. "Yes. It's me. How are you?"

"All the better for seeing you. You're looking well. As beautiful as ever."

The two of them embrace in a way that strikes me as very intimate and familiar. I dread to think what might happen if mum caught Gavin and I embracing like that. Eventually the two of them break for air.

"Homer. This is my daughter, Robyn. Robyn, meet Homer Yannos."

"My God! You're the spitting image of your mum when she was your age. Hello, Robyn. Nice to meet you at last. Please call me Homer."

I shake hands with Homer, slightly uneasy that he knows about me already. I guess the two of them must have kept in touch over the years.

"Where's your brood," asks mum of Homer.

"At my parents' place. Rosie is expecting our fifth child in a few weeks. She didn't want to make the trip into Wirrawee with it being so close to her time. Can't blame her. I only came on the off chance I would see you or one of the others."

"Are any of them here?" asks mum.

"Not that I've seen. As far as I know Kevin's still living in New Zealand, so I doubt that he's made the trip. I don't know about Ellie and Lee."

"I spoke to Ellie the other day," replies mum. "She wasn't certain whether she and Lee could find someone to mind the children. The twins are a bit young to bring into this sort of crowd."

"What do you think of the monument?" asks Homer.

"It's some public recognition at long last," sighs mum. "It's a shame they didn't add Chris and Corrie's names to the list."

"Yeah. That would have been nice, but I can understand why they didn't. They weren't there at the end."

"Neither was Robyn," says mum.

"Huh?" I say when I hear my name mentioned.

"Not you, dear," replies mum. "Our good friend Robyn Mathers."

"Yeah, but Robyn's death was different," says Homer. "She saved all of our lives by sacrificing her own."

"Yes. She did," replies mum sadly.

"Ah! There you are," says General Finley coming over to where mum and Homer are talking. "How are you Fiona?"

"I'm keeping well, General Finley. How is retirement suiting you?"

"Intelligence officers never actually retire," laughs General Finley. "They just get reassigned to other duties."

"Such as unveiling war monuments in foreign countries," observes Homer.

"Yes and no. My appearance here is more than it seems. I need to talk with you both. Somewhere private. Meet me in the auctioneers office in fifteen minutes. I'll see if I can find Ellie and Lee."

"I wonder what that is all about," says Homer.

"Just General Finley being his usual cryptic self," replies mum. "He hasn't changed in that respect."


	3. Fight or flight

3\. Fight or flight.

I wait quietly with mum and Homer as they recall old times. They seem rather guarded in their conversation and confine their discussion to events before the war. It seems Homer was something of a renegade at school, while mum was a bright and studious pupil. Despite being almost exact opposites, there is obviously some chemistry working between them.

One of the reasons for me trying to be invisible is to avoid mum sending me off while she meets with General Finley. My curiosity is working overtime and I really want to know what is going on. I couldn't bear it if I'm shut out of mum's past life again after making so much progress today. Ten minutes passes before Homer says farewell to us and wanders off towards the refreshment tent.

"I thought we were to meet with General Finley in a few minutes?" I say to mum.

"Sshhh," replies mum. "There may be unfriendly eyes watching us."

I nearly wet myself in panic. Are we in danger? What has mum noticed that I haven't?

"Come on, Robyn," says mum a few minutes later, slightly louder than necessary. "Let's go and find something to eat and drink."

I follow mum's lead as she weaves a path through the crowd in the general direction of the refreshments tent. I look around as we walk, fearing someone is following us and intending to do us harm. The trouble is that in this crowd I have no means of telling if anybody is about to do that. Everybody looks as though they're having a good time, so I can't see any threat.

"Stop fidgeting and look where you're walking," says mum, as I nearly collide with a woman pushing a small child in a buggy. "I'm sorry if I alarmed you just now, but I've learned to be careful in crowds. The auctioneer's office is over here. Come on."

Suddenly I realise why mum has always seems so alert and constantly looking around her. For years I thought it was some sort of nervous disorder. But today's revelations put her caution into perspective. Every now and then there are stories in our news about kidnappings and murders linked to what happened during the war.

Mum guides me into the room where General Finley and the others are waiting. Homer is there along with a man and a woman I don't recognise.

"This is my daughter, Robyn," says mum to the two people I haven't met. "Robyn, this is Ellie and Lee. You've already met Homer and General Finley."

"I still don't understand what you meant when you made your speech," says Homer to General Finley, continuing a conversation that was in progress when mum and I arrived.

"The new peace treaty is a great step forward in securing a lasting peace. Unfortunately there are some clauses in the treaty which are ambiguous or conflict with other treaties signed by your government. The situation regarding people convicted for terrorist activities is one of those conflicting areas. The terms of the peace treaty are meant to quash your convictions, but your previous government had entered into a security treaty with some powerful countries which blocked your government's ability to grant any pardon or remission of sentences for terrorists. It's all very unclear as to what is to happen to you and others like you in the same situation. Ironically, the peace treaty puts you in a more dangerous situation. Until now your government could refuse to recognise your convictions."

"So we are pawns in the politicians' games," replies mum.

"Yes. I'm afraid so," replies General Finley. "There's a tribunal which will adjudicate on the matter, but it could be months before it gets around to hearing your case. It doesn't help that the United States and the European Union have constantly supported a hard line against people involved in terrorist activities. Their stance is what has prevented your government from getting your sentences quashed. There are even those who call for your internment while the tribunal decides your fate."

"Surely our government will resist such a move," says Lee.

"Resist, yes. But I can't promise it will be successful. You must understand that countries like the United States and China will be applying a lot of pressure on your government to abide by the terms of the peace treaty. Nobody wants another war, and if the price of lasting peace is the loss of your freedom, then there will be those willing to offer you up like sacrificial lambs."

"What are we going to do?" asks mum.

"Firstly, I recommend that you put your affairs in order," says General Finley. "You may need to disappear for a while until we get a clearer picture on how this is going to play out."

"What's your interest in all this, General Finley?" asks Ellie. "Surely the New Zealand government has no involvement in this affair."

"Officially it hasn't, but the Australian and New Zealand military have always worked closely together. Since I knew you during the war, I was given the task of contacting you and alerting you to the danger which you now face. My superiors on both sides of the Tasman Sea clearly thought you'd be more receptive to their proposals if you heard them from me."

"What proposals?" asks mum.

"My superiors offer you three options. They are happy for you to choose the one you prefer. I only ask that you choose quickly.

"Firstly, the Australian government wishes to avoid the situation of having to arrest and imprison you. It would discredit the peace treaty and be bad for public morale. It goes without saying that it would be bad for you too. The New Zealand government has agreed to provide you and your immediate family with political asylum in New Zealand for as long as you require it. New Zealand isn't a party to the security treaty, so you should be safe from arrest. That's the first option open to you.

"Secondly, you can do nothing, and take your chances that everything will blow over. It's the least disruptive option open to you, particularly if the tribunal eventually decides in your favour. But it means a long wait with an uncertain outcome. It also means putting your faith in a bunch of politicians who are relatively new to their jobs.

"Thirdly, you can fight back. As you saw today, there is public disquiet with the failure of the government to quash your sentences. But few people know enough about the treaties to be aware of the issue. It's unlikely the Australian government will order your arrest if there's a large enough groundswell of public opinion on your side. It might also influence the tribunal in your favour. But to succeed, many more people need to be aware of the situation."

"I'm not running away after all this time," says Homer. "Besides, unless our sentences are quashed, we'll have this hanging over our heads for the rest of our lives. We must do all that we can to get the tribunal to decide in our favour."

"But the tribunal may still decide against us," replies Lee. "It'll be too late to run once the tribunal makes its decision. We could be under surveillance already."

"I agree with Homer," says Ellie. "If we run away, the tribunal will almost certainly decide against us. We are facing the same choice we faced twenty years ago. Do we run away, surrender or fight?"

"Things are different now," says Lee. "Last time we were single and had no responsibilities other than to ourselves. What about our families? We can't simply drag them around while we do whatever we are going to do."

"Last time we were alone behind enemy lines during an invasion," replies Ellie. "This time we are among friends and allies. Whatever we do affects our families one way or another. We didn't choose to be put in this situation, but we can choose what we do about it."

"Lee has a good point, though," says Homer. "We need to be mobile and that will be difficult with our families in tow. I suppose Rosie and the kids could go live with my brother George for a while. And either you or Lee could look after your children, Ellie, while the other helps us. But what about your situation, Fi?"

"Robyn could go and live with her father for a few months," replies mum. "He's working in Canada at the moment. I'm sure he'll be happy to take her in."

"Don't you dare," I reply. "I'm not being sent away like some kid who needs mollycoddling. This affects me too. You were my age when you fought in the war. How do you think I would feel if I did nothing to stop your imprisonment."

"I'll leave you to your debate," says General Finley. "Let me know your answer when you can."

"We can answer your question now," says Ellie. "We didn't hide or run away last time. We aren't going to do so now. We fight."

Lee, Homer and my mum all nod in agreement.

"I'll be in touch," says the general with a smile, clearly happy that he got the answer he wanted. A moment later he is out of the front door and walking towards the refreshment tent.

"There doesn't seem to be anybody spying on us, but we had best take precautions just in case," says Homer, watching discreetly through a gap in the blinds as General Finley disappears into the crowd. "Okay, lets make like hockey players and get the puck out of here. Back door. Lee, you and Ellie first. Fi, you and Robyn next in three minutes. I'll bring up the rear. Good luck. Keep in touch. If things get too hot, we'll rendezvous in Hell. I take it you can remember how to get there."

Nobody answers and I wait nervously with mum for our turn to leave. Ellie and Lee slip out of the door and look around before heading off towards the car park on the right. Three minutes later mum and I go out of the door and turn left. I follow as quietly as I can.

"If we are followed we'll split up. If that happens, I want you to go to the monument and wait for me there," says mum.

"What are you going to do?" I ask, getting more alarmed by the minute.

Mum doesn't answer and leads me into a thicker part of the crowd. Everybody seems to be having a good time and it feels strange knowing that everything might not be as it seems. Mum looks around us as we walk and I try to do likewise. In mum's case her careful surveillance of our surroundings seems casual and unlikely to arouse suspicion. In my case, I'm sure I'm going to give the game away.

We arrive at the monument without incident and we stand there for a couple of minutes. The main crowd has left the monument, but there are still a few people standing quietly nearby. It takes me a few moments to realise they are saying prayers for those whom are remembered in the inscriptions on the monument.

"Who were you praying for," I ask mum when she has finished doing the same.

"Robyn Mathers," replies mum. "She died saving our lives. I wish I had a quarter of her courage."

It's the first time today that mum has shown anything less than complete confidence in herself. I don't know what to say.

"Come on, let's go home," says mum.

The ride home from Wirrawee is a journey which I barely notice. Mum and I talk about her wartime experiences for most of the journey, and, more importantly, how they indirectly caused the break-up of my parents' marriage. That news has left me with mixed feelings about dad.

Mum tells me that during the '95-6 war, dad and his parents had been overseas. They were unable to return to Australia until nearly a year after the war was over. Mum had just finished college when she first met dad. A year or so later they were married, with me arriving not long after. Dad had studied and trained to be a research scientist, but opportunities in that field were few and far between in Australia immediately after the war. For a while he was happy working in other jobs, particularly as it helped with the rebuilding of war-torn Australia. But eight years ago he became restless and wanted to take up a job overseas in his specialist field of study. Mum eventually agreed that we could move, but then they realised they would have problems.

Unknown to mum and dad, the Australian Occupied Territories Council had registered 86 Australians on an American compiled list of known and suspected terrorists in 2003. Because of the secrecy, and the heightened fear of international terrorism at that time, nobody thought to challenge the reason for the 86 names being added to the list of terrorists. To mum's horror, she discovered that her name is on that list, making it impossible for her to travel to many overseas countries.

What happened next is the part I'm not sure I can forgive dad for doing, although mum seems okay with it. Dad could have abandoned his plans to work overseas, and we could have continued as we were. But the job opportunity meant so much to him that it started causing friction between mum and dad. Just before the deadline for dad to accept the job, mum decided that she and dad should split up and go their separate ways. Whether mum did the right thing or not is something only time will tell. Perhaps she thought that if dad stayed it would eventually cause mounting resentment and unhappiness. As it is, mum and dad were divorced, but they still remain friends. I still have a dad of sorts, but I just wish mum had told me earlier.


	4. Change of circumstances

4\. Change of circumstances

There's been a complete change of circumstances as far as my class assignment goes. I've moved from a situation of having nothing to write about, to one of having so much that I'll have to leave out huge parts of mum's story. My problem now is to decide which parts to include, and which to skip.

"Why don't you read _The War from Hell_ before you start your essay," suggests mum. "It might help you put what I've said into context."

If I'd been more observant, I would have noticed that the author of _The War from Hell_ is Ellie Linton. The same Ellie whom I met in Wirrawee. It suddenly dawns on me that this book is about the wartime experiences of the Wirrawee partisans. It's about my mum's wartime exploits. No wonder mum didn't want me to start reading it until after we had talked today.

It's back to college in the morning, so I can't spend all night reading the book. Nevertheless, I read it until one o'clock in the morning. I get as far into the story as the partisans' attack on the Heron bridge, which was the first of their targets. I pay particular attention to my mum's role in all of the events mentioned. Not just the heroic attack on an enemy held target, but the smaller activities which helped keep the group alive and hidden from enemy soldiers. The parts of the story about my mum paint a strange picture of the person I thought I knew so well. Familiar and unfamiliar at the same time.

Needless to say, I'm bombarded with questions from my classmates the next day. I had faithfully promised to tell them about my mum's wartime experiences this week, and now they are demanding payment in full. Suddenly I'm unsure what to say. I'd asked mum which parts of her story I should write and talk about, and she basically told me that I'm old enough to make that decision on my own. At first I felt she was being unfair, but I realised later that she had to make much harder decisions on her own when she was my age. I shall do no less.

"My mum's maiden name was Maxwell," I say to the gathered crowd. "Fiona Maxwell. She's the one they call Fi in _The War from Hell_."

"Yeah, right!" sneers Paul. "And my mum is Elsie Fenton."

"Who?" asks Sally, one of my closest friends. Like me, she doesn't get on with the overbearing Paul Thompson.

"You know," replies Paul. "The author of _The War from Hell_."

"Linton," I reply. "The author's name is Ellie Linton. I met her yesterday. She's not your mother. Something for which I'm sure she'd be eternally grateful, should she ever hear about you."

I go into a brief explanation about my trip to Wirrawee and the unveiling of the memorial. I don't mention General Finley, or his warning about the dangers ahead. I'm having enough trouble getting my friends to believe my story without adding cloak and dagger stuff into the mix.

"So she was in the army, then?" asks Gavin. He of all people should know that my mum was too young at the time. I told him that only last week.

"No, Gavin," I reply with a sigh. "She was a partisan. You obviously haven't started reading the book."

Gavin admits that he hasn't read any of the book. In fact, it seems that I'm the only one who has read more than the first page of _The War from Hell_. It probably explains why I'm having such a hard time convincing everyone that my mum is the Fi mentioned in the book. Nobody else has got far enough into the book to know who I'm talking about.

"Well, I'm going to start reading the book tonight," says Paul. "If I'm not convinced that you're telling the truth, Robyn, then I'll ..."

"You'll do nothing," says Mr. Goodwin, our social studies teacher. We had been so engrossed in our conversation that we hadn't noticed him enter the room. "I happen to know that Robyn is telling the truth. Her mother is the Fiona Maxwell mentioned in _The War from Hell_."

"But that gives Robyn an unfair advantage with the assignment," complains Paul, not willing to let the matter drop.

I fail to see how that can be the case, and Mr. Goodwin doesn't bother to reply to Paul's complaint. Instead, we settle down to today's lesson and the subject of the assignment doesn't get raised again.

I finish reading _The War from Hell_ in three evenings; which makes it a world record for speed reading as far as I'm concerned. Some of my other homework suffers as a result, but I can catch up over the weekend. By the time I finish the book, I'm in a confused state of emotions. Pride and shock seem to be the two strongest. Pride at what mum has achieved in the most difficult of circumstances. Shock that the book is describing my mother doing things I never thought her capable of doing. A bigger shock when I realise that she and Homer Yannos were a lot more than just good friends.

In my mind, I can still see the mother I thought I knew only a week ago. But overlaying that picture is another. It paints a picture of a different woman who lived through some of the most terrifying moments I can imagine. A woman no older than I am now, who carried out daring deeds despite the difficulties and danger. Deeds which caused the destruction of buildings and bridges, as well as destroying a whole variety of transport. Not to mention that she participated in the deaths of an unknown number of enemy soldiers. Not mindless slaughter, I'm relieved to say. Mum's actions helped create plenty of havoc and chaos, but it wasn't bloodletting for the mere sake of it. The partisans' actions helped salvage some territory concessions from the invaders during the armistice negotiations.

I could paint a picture of my mum as some sort of gun-toting super-heroine. But that's not the woman I know, nor is it the one portrayed in the book. None of the partisans are super-heroes. Brave, certainly, but they were also caring human beings who constantly questioned the rights and wrongs of what they were doing. Calling them terrorists today, and threatening them with imprisonment, isn't right. Their so-called crimes should have been expunged with the signing of the peace treaty. The war crimes tribunal set up after the war spent years carrying out its investigations, but it never showed any interest in investigating the partisans' activities.

Over the following weeks, mum starts making and receiving lots of phone calls. Sometimes she tries to make sure that I'm out of earshot while she talks. It's not a good tactic, as it alerts me to the likelihood of something being said which is worth overhearing. I know mum, Homer, Ellie and Lee talk regularly, and there's the occasional call from General Finley. Some of the conversations are quite cryptic, and I begin to think that mum is trying to hide something from me. It's almost a relief when she tells me that the reason for the cryptic messages are in case the phone line is being tapped. I realise later that my relief is a misplaced reaction. The last thing I want anybody to know about is my last phone call with Gavin. I'm not certain whether it's my new found fame, courtesy of mum's wartime exploits, that's driving Gavin's increasingly amorous interest in me. I've no intention of allowing him to do half the things he's suggesting we do, but it's fun letting him think there's a chance.

In addition to my homework, I've also taken a much keener interest in the news. I start watching the evening news reports on television for anything that might affect mum's safety. At first I don't follow a lot of what is being reported. Gradually I detect a pattern, and I start to get a sense of how seemingly unrelated events might be connected. Of course, it could be my overactive imagination, but when I discuss things with mum, I realise that I'm fairly close to the mark. Between them, mum, Ellie, Lee, Homer and General Finley have raised people's awareness of the plight of the Wirrawee partisans. Unfortunately, awareness doesn't always translate into support. Many people are too preoccupied with how the peace treaty affects them personally to worry about something which a tribunal will decide in any case. More than once the selfishness of some political commentators reduces mum to tears and I sit consoling her until late at night. Fortunately her moments of despair are short lived.

That's the other change in my life. Mum and I talk a lot more. Serious stuff. Not what's for tea, or the latest films at the cinema, but how the preparations for the tribunal hearing are progressing. Between us we also get an idea which politicians can be trusted, and which ones wouldn't hesitate to sell both their grandmothers to save their own neck.

Then, one Saturday morning, mum receives an official letter advising her that the tribunal is to hear her case in two weeks time. A quick phone call to Lee, Ellie and Homer confirms their cases are to be heard at the same time. It seems as though all the so-called terrorist cases affected by the peace treaty are to be heard together.

What none of us had anticipated, however, is that the tribunal will hear the cases in America under United States jurisdiction. The security treaty entered into by our last government assigns all legal jurisdiction to the United States on matters relating to the security treaty.

"It's against the principles of national sovereignty," says General Finley when he meets with Lee, Ellie, Homer, mum and I at our home the next day. "It's the reason the New Zealand government refused to join the treaty. Unfortunately your government did, so we must all live with the consequences."

"Are we to be allowed to attend the tribunal hearing and speak in our defence?" asks Lee.

"While the tribunal can hear witnesses, you aren't allowed to enter United States territory. You'd be arrested at the border and either deported or jailed."

"So how do they expect to give us a fair trial if we can't speak in our defence?"

"The tribunal isn't a court of law. This isn't a trial. The tribunal only adjudicates on the interpretation of the security treaty. The Australian government has hired American lawyers to speak on its behalf, and you'll each be allowed to send a written statement. Your own lawyers can help you with that. We can ask that the tribunal allows you to present your case in person via a video link, but it's unlikely that they'll agree. As I said, they are only interested in interpreting the clauses of the security treaty in context of the new peace treaty. You and the other Australian citizens facing imprisonment are simply pawns in the politicians' game."

"I don't like trusting my freedom to a bunch of politicians and American lawyers," says Homer. "We might want to prepare to disappear for a while."

"I don't think that will help your cause," replies General Finley. "If the tribunal decides against you then the Australian police will be forced to arrest you, even if they have to hunt you down. You can't stay hidden forever. I'd offer you passage to New Zealand if I could, but now the tribunal is about to hear your case, you'd be detained as soon as you tried to leave Australia."

"No military helicopter to whisk us to safety this time," muses Ellie.

"Alas, no," sighs General Finley. "I'm sorry. You did your best to raise people's awareness and I'm sure the Australian officials in America will do what they can for you at the tribunal."

"I'd still feel happier if there was someone at the hearing who knows us and who can speak on our behalf," says mum.

"I'd offer to go myself," says General Finley. "But I'm under military orders not to involve myself any further than I've done so already."

"I can go," I say. "I'm not barred from entering America. I can attend the tribunal hearing. If you think it will do any good."

"Robyn! No!" replies mum. "You're too young."

"Too young?" I reply. "Compared to what you did when you were my age, what I'm suggesting is a walk in the park."

"But you'll be on your own," replies mum. "You've never been outside Australia before. You're barely old enough to be allowed to travel on your own."

"I'll be alright. Let me do this. I want to help."

Everyone in the room looks at everyone else. Nobody says anything for what seems like an eternity. Finally Homer speaks out.

"You're just like your mum," says Homer, as though that explains everything.


	5. Tribunal

5\. Tribunal

"We'd be honoured if you spoke at the Tribunal on our behalf," says Ellie, effectively forcing mum's hand.

"You can go on the condition that your father can meet you in New York, and he is able to stay with you while you are there," says mum. "You'll need some help with the Tribunal in any case."

The shock of what I've volunteered to do begins to strike home. I spoke out in the heat of the moment and now I'm suddenly faced with a daunting task. But I've no intention of backing down. I must do what I can to keep mum and the others out of prison. I just hope dad is able to play his part.

The arrangements are made in a matter of days. I'll be leaving next Tuesday, which will give me a few days in New York to adjust to the time zone difference and prepare for the Tribunal. Dad will meet me at the airport in New York, having travelled from Canada the day before. I'm nervous about meeting him for the first time in six years.

"I'm proud of you," says mum as she helps me pack my bag. "What you are doing is every bit as brave as what I did during the war. Do you have the papers our lawyer gave you?"

"Yes. They're in my flight bag. I don't want to risk my luggage going missing and having to go to the Tribunal without them."

Mum's lawyer has been helpful in giving me notes on how the Tribunal will work and what I can and can't do. He's given me a few pointers on what to say, but everyone has left it to me to put it all into words. The written statements from mum and the others have already been sent to the lawyers in New York.

I've received all sorts of advice from friends and teachers at college, although most of it boils down to using my own judgement. A few, like Paul Thompson, think I'm just using it as an excuse to miss college for a few weeks. I'd like to see him try to do what I'm doing. Sally says he'd probably wet his pants at the thought of travelling on a long distance plane by himself.

All too soon it is time to depart. I check my passport, visa and itinerary for the umpteenth time. Mum checks with dad that he's all set to travel to New York to meet me. By coincidence we depart at about the same time, although he'll arrive the best part of a day before me. I even have a few words with him over the phone, which isn't something I normally do. Since he left six years ago, I've had a rather frosty relationship with him. I don't know how being thrown together is going to work out.

Although the flight goes without any problems, it's still an experience I'll remember for a long time. I successfully navigate the change of planes in Los Angeles, and arrive in New York more or less on schedule. Fortunately I have a fairly recent picture of dad on me or we'd both be looking for each other for ages. He barely recognises me. I suppose he was remembering me as the ten year old girl he abandoned.

Our reunion is cordial, although we are both a little cautious with our greetings. There's no long embrace or kissing when we meet. Both of us are uncertain how the other really feels about them. I'm grateful for dad being here with me, but I'm not certain I can forgive him for leaving mum and I six years ago.

Dad hails a cab and we go to our hotel. I unpack and the two of us go for a meal. Dad is obviously in a well paid job because he takes me to an upmarket restaurant rather than the nearest fast food joint. As the meal progresses I start to relax in his presence. Our conversation becomes easier, although we keep clear of the difficult subject of why he left my life six years ago. To be honest, I don't feel ready for that conversation yet. I need to remain focussed on what I'm going to say to the Tribunal.

The next few days are spent visiting lawyers and officials in readiness for my appearance before the Tribunal. We also meet the dozen or so other friends and relatives who, like me, have come to New York to represent those who face imprisonment. The hearing starts on Monday, but none of the representatives are going to be called until Thursday, which is expected to be the last day of the hearing. A decision isn't expected to be announced before Friday, although it could be delayed by up to several weeks if the three members of the Tribunal panel are unable to arrive at a decision. I'm due to travel home on Saturday, so I'm not certain I'll hear the result before I leave. Perhaps it might be better if I leave before the decision is announced. If the tribunal orders the imprisonment of mum and the others, then dad might want to prevent me from returning to an empty home. Whatever happens, I want to go home afterwards.

Thursday arrives. Fateful Thursday. I'm a bag of nerves, but I do my best to disguise it. Dad has been very supportive all week as I've sat in the public gallery listening to the proceedings. He has reminded me more than once that I don't need to attend the whole hearing, but I feel it my duty to be here. Even so, several sessions are held in private, so I don't get to hear everything. I'm disappointed that the official presentation by the lawyers representing the Australian government are heard in private. When my turn comes to be called before the Tribunal, I've still no idea how things are going. We've been made to wait in a side room, so we can't hear what is going on. The nine family representatives who have been heard before me were in the room for about ten minutes each, and most leave looking shell-shocked. The clerk sat by the door calls my name and I'm escorted into the main room. The first thing I notice is that the public gallery is full, and there are television cameras here today. Nobody told me to expect my testimony to be televised. My already wobbly nerves nearly fail me, but I take a deep breath and remind myself of mum's courage during the war.

"So, Miss Johnstone," begins one of the Tribunal officials in a very offhand tone. "I understand you are here to plead on behalf of your mother, Fiona Johnstone, nee Maxwell, and the others who were part of her terrorist cell during the war."

"The Wirrawee partisans were not a terrorist cell," I snap in response. "They were ... are ... loyal Australians who found themselves trapped behind enemy lines during an unprovoked invasion. It's a matter of public record that the invaders killed many innocent civilians. My mother and her friends did what any patriotic person would do, and looked for a way to fight back."

"By committing terrorist acts," interrupts the official.

"No. By taking up arms against enemy soldiers. If that is your definition of terrorism, then you would need to arrest tens of thousands of people around the world who ever took up arms against an invading army. If America was invaded would you imprison every civilian who resisted the invaders? I don't think so. You would call them heroes. Why do you think it should be different for Australian civilians?"

"Calm yourself, Miss Johnstone. We are the ones who will be asking the questions."

I do my best to control my anger. The very slant of the official's questions suggest a strong bias against mum and the others.

"A military court found your mother and her gang guilty of terrorist activities," continues the official. "That is the internationally accepted charge against captured civilians of a defeated nation who continue to fight against the occupying forces. Do you deny that your mother was engaged in terrorism?"

"I do," I reply. "Your very words highlight the falseness of your assertion. Large parts of my country were occupied by the invaders, but Australia was never defeated at any time during the '95-96 war. My mother's actions were done while both sides were engaged in armed conflict. My mother committed acts of sabotage against enemy military targets during a time of war ... that's not terrorism."

"This Tribunal will decide that, Miss Johnstone. And your government did sue for peace. That's how the 1996 armistice came into being."

"I don't know where you learned your history, but you are wrong," I retort. "It was the United Nations which finally succeeded in getting both sides to agree to end the fighting. Besides, the armistice was nearly a year after my mother and the others were convicted of their so-called crimes."

The official continues to pummel me with questions, but I keep my temper in check and answer his questions to the best of my ability. What concerns me is the misrepresentation of the facts stated by the official. It's as though he's the prosecutor in a court of law. But in a court of law there would be a defence counsel to challenge the man's false statements. The three members of the Tribunal panel occasionally ask a question, but otherwise allow the official a free hand in what increasingly feels like an interrogation. My session lasts much longer than the sessions before me.

I'm allowed to conclude my session with a short statement. I was originally going to give a prepared speech, but I realise they are the wrong words for the current situation. Instead I summarise the main points of what I've said.

"Thank you for your time, Miss Johnstone," says the official as though we have been discussing the weather. "You are free to leave."

I go to where dad is waiting for me. He's been in the public gallery watching me. Dad gives me a hug, which I return. It's the most intimate thing we've done since our arrival in New York. Now my session is over, we could go to the gallery to watch the remaining sessions. But I'm in need of a drink and some relaxation. I've been running on adrenalin for hours, and now I'm feeling mentally and physically exhausted.

"That was very impressive, Robyn," he says as we walk to a nearby cafe. "I'm proud of you. Your mother will be proud of you. You kept your head throughout the whole session and you gave that obnoxious official a run for his money. Those before you couldn't cope with his insinuations and provocations."

Inwardly I do feel proud of how I handled myself. I tell myself that I did my best. But is it enough?

Dad and I spend Friday visiting the sights of New York. An official from the Australian embassy has promised to telephone us as soon as there is any news about the Tribunal's decision. Even so, we check the on-line newsfeeds every half hour. Although there were television cameras present during the last day's sessions, there's been nothing broadcast on American television.

There's still no announcement when it comes time for me to board my flight to Los Angeles and from there on to home. Dad takes me to the airport and sees me to the gate. His flight back to Canada isn't until tomorrow.

"Call me before you leave Los Angeles," says dad. "If there is an announcement, and the decision is against us, I want you to wait there until I can collect you. If your mum is to be imprisoned, I want you to come and stay with me in Canada for a while."

I want to refuse outright, but I know dad is doing what he thinks is right. While my feelings towards him have thawed a bit during our time together, I don't want to be stuck in Canada when mum might need my support. I wish I was a couple of years older and no longer considered a child. If I disobey dad and try to board my flight to Australia, he would be within his rights to have me removed from the plane.

When I arrive in Los Angeles, there's still no news. I've a three hour wait in Los Angeles and every minute seems to last an hour. I check the on-line news every few minutes and there's still no call from the Australian embassy. Dad checked with them before we left the hotel this morning just in case, but they advised that the Tribunal was still deliberating. It would help my situation if they decided to take the weekend off, and resume on Monday, but it seems that they will be working through today.

Ten minutes before boarding begins for my flight I make the promised phone call to dad. The latest on-line news feeds say that a decision is expected from the Tribunal within the next hour or so. Now my biggest fear is that dad will make me change my flight for one which is due to depart in four hours time. I doubt the airline will be any happier than me at that prospect.

"Hi dad," I say. "I'm about to board my plane. I've not received any call from the embassy. Have you?"

"No," replies dad. "Have you been following the on-line news?"

"Err ... not for the last half hour or so," I lie. "There was nothing reported when I last looked."

I've never been a good liar and dad must be able to detect my lie. But to his great credit he realises that my heart is set on returning to Australia. I wouldn't blame him if he told me what in reality I already know, and made me wait for a later flight. But he doesn't, and he simply wishes me a safe flight.

As a consequence, I get to hear the outcome of the Tribunal hearing about twelve hours after everybody else.


	6. Hell

6\. Hell.

Before my plane landed I had already worked out that if mum meets me at the airport then everything is okay, but if Sally's mum meets me then the decision had gone against us. Mum and the others could already be in prison. Consequently I nearly collapse when I see Sally and her mum waiting for me as I clear customs. Tears start to well in my eyes.

"Robyn, over here," calls Sally, as I stand frozen in the middle of the flow of arriving passengers.

I slowly walk over to where Sally is waiting. I feel numb all over. After my experience at the Tribunal I shouldn't be surprised that the decision went against us, but I had still hoped for the best.

"Don't cry, Robyn," says Sally's mum. "You're a celebrity and you'll want to look your best for the cameras."

"What?" I ask, feeling very confused. To be honest I don't care what I look like if I've lost mum.

"Haven't you heard?" says Sally's mum, realising what is troubling me.

"I left Los Angeles before the Tribunal announced its decision," I reply.

"Oh! My goodness! How thoughtless of us!" says Sally's mum. "We didn't know that you hadn't heard the result of the Tribunal hearing. I'm so sorry. When you didn't see your mum waiting here for you, you thought she'd been arrested. But it's alright. We won. You won. Your mum is waiting for you in the room over there. Unfortunately there's a gaggle of reporters and television crew as well. Airport security didn't want all that crowd hanging around the exit here, so they moved everyone into a meeting room."

"But why am I a celebrity?" I ask.

"Your session at the Tribunal was shown on television last night. The commentators are saying that it was the way you stood up to that bully of an interrogator that won the Tribunal over."

I doubt what I said made that much of a difference, but reporters rarely let the truth stand in the way of a good story. I quickly dry my eyes and make myself presentable.

"We'll look after your bags," says Sally's mum as I approach the meeting room. "Go and greet your mum."

Mum and I are allowed a few moments in private before we must face the waiting crowd. After my gruelling session at the Tribunal, I find I can cope easily with the barrage of questions from the reporters. An hour later we rejoin Sally and her mum for the drive home.

Sally starts to tell me about what I've missed at college and how Gavin has been handling my absence. With both our mothers listening she doesn't go into too much detail, but I can fill in the gaps. Although I slept for a while on the plane, I feel exhausted, and I soon fall asleep. It's probably a bit rude of me after they've travelled all the way to meet me, but I think they understand.

The official letter arrives a couple of days later, advising mum that her conviction for terrorist activities has been quashed. Lee, Ellie and Homer received their letters at the same time. It's not a complete victory since they are still unable to travel to the United States without requesting a special visa, which may or may not be approved by the US authorities. But her name has been deleted from the list of known and suspected terrorists, so she is no longer prevented from travelling to other countries. It's like a huge weight has been lifted from mum's shoulders.

Dad is delighted at the news and invites us to join him in Canada. But mum declines, saying that they have both made new lives for themselves since they divorced, and going back to living together wouldn't work. Only as an afterthought does she ask me whether I want to go and live with dad. Perhaps she knows me better than I sometimes give her credit, since she already knew that I didn't want to leave here. My relationship with dad has definitely improved, but not to the extent that I want to live with him. Our phone conversation at Los Angeles airport as I was about to board my flight perhaps confirmed to him my true feelings about where I want to be.

Eventually things settle down. We soon become yesterday's news. I catch up on my missed college work and return to what I regard as a normal life. Not that my life is exactly as it was before. My real or imaginary success at the Tribunal in New York has boosted my confidence and self-assurance. Friends and classmates who previously regarded me as one of the crowd, now look to me for leadership. It's a role I'm not entirely comfortable with adopting, but I nevertheless don't avoid.

Mum once said that Ellie was the leader of the Wirrawee partisans, even though Ellie would often deny it. That's how I feel when I'm told that I'm a leader. It's not something I consciously do, but equally, it is hard to prove otherwise.

Of course, our victory in New York wasn't the only change brought about by the peace treaty. When the impact of the peace treaty is looked at in its entirety, the quashing of mum's conviction is only a tiny part of the changes to life in our country. Australia is reunited as a single country once more. At first it is little more than replacing the border with new state lines. The Occupied Territories become four new semi-autonomous states within the Commonwealth of Australia. Each state will have it's own parliament, modelled on the state parliaments which existed before the '95-96 war. People are once more allowed to travel and live in any of the states. Those born in the Occupied Territories since the war are now Australian citizens, while those who migrated to the Occupied Territories from overseas are given the opportunity to apply for Australian citizenship.

Australians who were dispossessed of their property during and after the war have the right to apply to the relevant state government for its return, although it will mean repaying the compensation which was paid by our government. In reality most people have resettled in their new homes and only a few show any inclination to move to a state where English isn't the common language. But all that could change over time as the English speaking and non-English speaking populations intermingle.

The changes brought about by the peace treaty aren't all plain sailing, and even at the best of times it's a slow process. But over the following months the intended result from the peace treaty starts to take hold. People from different sides of the old border start to interact. Roads and railway lines are no longer constrained by the border. Regular commercial flights resume between the major cities. People from the south once again holiday in the north and vice versa, just as they did before the war.

It's getting near to my 17th birthday when mum asks me what I would like to do on my birthday.

"I've read _The War from Hell_ at least eight times," I reply. "I would really like to see Hell. Can we go and camp there for a weekend?"

"If you can wait until your end-of-year break, we can go for a week, if you like. We can ask Lee, Ellie and Homer if they and their families want to go too."

So, shortly after Christmas, mum and I meet Ellie, Lee and their two older children, Connie and Chris, in Wirrawee and we set off for Hell. Homer and Rosie couldn't join us, but agreed to look after Ellie's young twins while we spend the week camping.

Once we are a couple of kilometres beyond the farm where Ellie grew up we find the going too difficult for our four wheel drive vehicle. The track has been washed out in places and it's very overgrown. Despite the description of the route in _The War from Hell_ , it doesn't look as though anybody has tried to go there for years. Lee parks the car in the shade of a large tree and we unload all our gear. Now comes the hard part. Just as mum and the others did when they went camping in Hell in 1995, we have to carry everything on our backs.

By late afternoon we reach Hell. There's no trace of the encampment from the war. Nature has reclaimed its territory and erased all signs of human occupation. Lee finds a few bits of wood which he claims are part of something they had made, but they could just as easily be from a broken branch. We set up camp before dark and light a camp fire. Connie and Chris are exhausted so Ellie puts them to bed.

"It's a shame Homer and Rosie couldn't join us," muses Lee.

"Yeah," replies mum. "But their children are too young to make this trip."

"I think Homer was keen to come, though," says Lee. "But Rosie wouldn't let him."

"Well she'll need a hand looking after the children, especially since she's got your twins to care for as well."

"Oh, I don't think that's the only reason," says Ellie as she joins us. "She only offered to look after the twins once Homer had decided not to come."

"So why did Rosie not want Homer to come with us?" asks mum.

"Oh come on, Fi," laughs Ellie. "Rosie's read _The War from Hell._ She knows how you and Homer used to make out. And you're a single woman again. She doesn't trust him alone with you."

"But that was years ago," replies mum. "We drifted apart after the war. I'd never come between Homer and Rosie. Besides, we'd hardly be alone."

"You weren't alone for most of the time during the war, but that didn't stop the pair of you."

"You and Lee were as bad," replies mum defensively. "Anyway, let's drop the subject. You're embarrassing Robyn."

"No you're not," I reply quickly, hoping to hear some more juicy titbits of mum's past life. I remember how mum and Homer greeted each other at showground in Wirrawee last ANZAC day. But the moment is lost, and there's no more discussion about mum and Homer's romantic life.

We enjoy our week relaxing and exploring. We find the old hut that was built by the hermit over a century ago. That's where the poem pinned on our living room wall was discovered. I'm really glad I asked to come here. It gives me a stronger connection to my mum's past. It's obviously a trip down memory lane for mum, Ellie and Lee as well.

On the last evening of our visit I lie in the open looking up at the sky. I imagine I suddenly see and hear a large formation of aircraft flying overhead as I lie here. I quickly dismiss such a fanciful thought. After all, this is where mum, Ellie, Lee and Homer's story began, not mine.

[The end]


End file.
